


ain't I rich enough (in love enough)

by paperdragon



Series: so don't tell me no truths (i just want all of your lies) [2]
Category: Bandom, The Rolling Stones
Genre: Literally everyone is mentioned only apart from m/k, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 09:57:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18118478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdragon/pseuds/paperdragon
Summary: There’s nothing attractive about Keith these days. There was a time when Mick couldn’t keep his hands off him, when just a glimpse across the room was enough to get his blood boiling. Now, though, now he can’t imagine touching him, doesn’t want to. For the first time since he met Keith in that train, there’s something inside of him telling him to stay away.He feels it settle into his bones, feels the smoke get in his eyes as Keith exhales. //Nellcôte, 1971





	ain't I rich enough (in love enough)

There’s nothing attractive about Keith these days. There was a time when Mick couldn’t keep his hands off him, when just a glimpse across the room was enough to get his blood boiling. Now, though, now he can’t imagine touching him, doesn’t want to. For the first time since he met Keith again in that train, there’s something inside of him telling him to stay away.

They used to touch all the damn time too, back then. Even before all the fucking or the drug-fueled blinding need overtook them, they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Mick with his hand on Keith’s shoulder, or Keith’s arm thrown around him while he plucked a cigarette from his mouth, smoke curling in the air. Oldham used to laugh after shows, say you could smell their sweat on each other from how close they’d be singing into the mike. He used to lounge across the sofa in their dressing rooms, while they stood and leaned against walls and dressing tables, while he’d say, ‘Can’t tell the difference between you two sometimes.’

There’s a world of difference between them now, though. Keith’s the kind of drugged up Mick’s never been, never let himself be. For all his dabbling, Mick’s stayed far away from whatever kind of heroin Anita and Keith do, and back when he still had a bit of worry for her, he’d tell Marianne to stay away from that shit too. Except unlike Marianne, Mick can’t exactly dump Keith while he’s glassy eyed and drooling, can’t walk away without a look back. It stings, the fact that he can’t leave him. It also stings, when he thinks back to a time when the idea of leaving Keith behind would have made him punch someone. But what burns the most is when he looks at his old friend now and wants nothing to do with him.  

The basement is the least trashed place in the entire villa, which is saying something on its own. They’re trying to lay down a track, trying to get something to work. Mick Taylor’s been minding his own lately, but even he’s starting to look gone, eyes sinking in. He hasn’t been sleeping, Mick thinks to himself, no one here knows how to sleep. They just pass out and wake up and pass out, and don’t remember fuck all. He looks at Keith again, looks at his fingers sliding up and down the fret board, confident and bold, and knows he’s high. Keith plays at his best when he’s just had a hit; Mick calculates – they’ve got around a solid few hours to get some work in before he starts to come down.

Looking at him, Mick wonders whether maybe Keith’s pretty sick of him too. In the morning he’d written the lyrics to tumbling dice, thought over and over about gambling and women and the hedonism, and ended up thinking about Keith instead, like he’s always done at the worst of times. It was like a needle buried deep in his brain, scarring _Keith, Keith, Keith, Keith_ all over his cortex _._ For all his claims to himself that he’s let go of Keith Richards in whatever cesspool of drugged up misery he wants to be in, the thought that maybe him letting go didn’t matter for fuck all still hurts.

Tonight, after a really long time, Mick’s wondering of whether he should try again. It’s been almost six months since they’ve been here, almost a year since Mick last touched Keith with any intent behind his eyes. If he was that type of guy, he’d think about it, think about the last time when he’d pushed Keith down on the floor, held his hands down and sucked bruises into his throat like a damn collar around his neck, bitten down hard and more painful than pleasurable, until Keith had stopped fighting against the grip on his wrists and gritted out, like he couldn’t help himself, ‘ _please.’_ He’d think about the look on his face, how close they’d been, skin on skin; or he’d think about the time before that, when Keith had pushed him against the wall, his eyes simmering with the sort of easy possessiveness for things only Keith had, kissed him rough dirty until Mick could taste blood that he wasn’t sure belonged to who. There’s so many things Keith’s hands have done to him; there’s so many things Mick knows about him, what makes him angry, what makes him laugh, unexpected and loud. Keith has pissed him off to the extent where he can’t think straight, has made him feel invincible, and not enough, and full of life.

All of that history is hitting him all over as he sings; he doesn’t like what it’ll do to the track. He’ll probably go back and redo it with Taylor, later. When they disband, Charlie’s the first one to leave, a hand on Mick’s shoulder the only thing to say he’s off. Lately, Mick’s been wondering if coming here was a good idea. He sees Keith trudge up the stairs, Parsons near his trail, he can hear that voice grating at him, the laughter that’s so hazy and weak making him nauseas. This entire place has been getting on his nerves more and more. Bianca refused to come along this time; something between her and Anita doesn’t fit right either. Mick can’t care either way at this point; nothing here fits right. He’s unsatisfied with everything.

But for once he doesn’t leave; he spends a while walking around looking at people he doesn’t know. He smokes near one of the large windows where he can hear everything and see nothing. Later, he walks up, walks into the hallway like he’s actually going to pick a guest bedroom and be done with it. He can’t help himself, almost, when he walks into Keith’s room. The door’s open, Parsons lounging about near the foot of Keith’s bed, Keith sitting with his back against the head rest, and there’s something so familiar about it, Mick’s entire being throbs with anger.

‘Get out,’ Mick says. His voice sounds cold.

‘So important is it,’ Gram says. He isn’t even looking up. ‘Though the band quota was done for the day.’

Mick doesn’t like losing his temper. He never has, he always keeps it on wraps, doesn’t pick fights. Except he goes to Gram, and fists his hand in the too-large jacket he’s wearing, and hisses, ‘Get the fuck out of this room, Parsons, if you know what’s good for you.’

There must be something there, because for a second Parsons looks shaken, before he laughs it off, getting up. ‘Fine, fine, disturb his beauty sleep, then.’ He traipses out, and it takes everything in Mick to not just hold his head and bash it against the door frame. He takes a deep breath, and turns, he’s almost panting from the effort of controlling himself.

Keith’s barely given notice to what’s just happened, Mick realizes. He’s probably bumped up the dosage. He doesn’t say anything, looks up at Mick like he just showed up here out of thin air.

Mick’s overcome with the feeling that he’s made a huge mistake. He shouldn’t have come here. There’s no point, he thinks, except he’s thought that before, over and over, and yet somehow he’s still here. He picks out the errant joint lying on Keith’s dresser, lights it up and sits near the window.

‘Light us one too, won’t you Mick?’ Keith’s voice is hoarse.

‘Just got this one here,’ Mick replies. He can’t look back, he hasn’t made peace with the fact that this is how it is. It’s funny, he thinks, he’s always prized himself on being someone who lives in the present, who lets the past go without a thought, both good things and bad things. But Keith’s been the exception to everything for him, and once Mick used to be fond of that fact. Now he just hates it. He hates comparing everything to how it used to be. He hates trying to convince himself that this is all it is, this is all it’s going to be. He hates that he has to.

‘Then share, would you?’ Keith says. He sounds so much like what he used to, and so much like he never did.

Mick comes over, settles against the headboard on the other side of Keith and passes him the joint. There’s so much he can say, and so much he wants to, but he can’t. He’s just staring at the dresser in front of him, the mirror that shows him quite so disjointed as he’s never been before. His hand touches Keith’s when he takes the joint again, and he looks at him again. There’s a slight wetness on the filter from where Keith’s lips touched it; Mick knows the taste of Keith’s mouth, once knew it as well as his own. Looking at his lips, Mick feels himself being pulled in, pushed away at the same time.

Keith doesn’t say anything. He just looks at him, unblinking. Mick’s kissed Keith in so many different ways in so many different places. He’s kissed him in anger, in joy, in exhilaration, in fear. He’s kissed Keith when they were covered in sweat and breathless from the heat, and he’s kissed him in his arms with freezing fingertips in the snow. He’s kissed him rough with passion, and gentle with exhaustion. But he’s never kissed him with regret, and Mick doesn’t believe in doing things he’ll regret. They’re done here.

He feels it settle into his bones, feels the smoke get in his eyes as Keith exhales. It burns, but no more than it already has. Mick gets up, throws in an errant hand as farewell. He doesn’t know if Keith responds, or if he even notices, but he doesn’t look back.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Most of this was relatively accurate timeline information that I shoved through my artistic licence filter. As always, love to know what you guys think!


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